


Apple of the Eye

by dollyfish



Category: Original Work
Genre: Banishment, Blindness, Explicit Sexual Content, Human/Monster Romance, Incest, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Hellenistic Religion & Lore), Not really though, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Royalty, Unhealthy Relationships, that's actually it, there's monsterfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyfish/pseuds/dollyfish
Summary: “When this happened the first time, I was banished by the King. I went where no one would ever look for me.”It felt so different from the first time he offered Jaym the food of his table, the shelter of his home. He was offering a part of his heart, pale and pulsing, but hardly healed, knowing full well that Jaym would bite into everything within his reach.





	Apple of the Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anth (antheeia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/gifts).



> birthday gift for my favorite fellow monsterfucker. we've been talking about this and i couldn't get it out of my head, so i thought you'd appreciate. 
> 
> everyone else, please mind the tags and enjoy to your heart's content

> keep me as the apple of the eye,
> 
> hide me under the shadow of thy wings
> 
> **Psalm 17:8**

 

 

 

 

 

Winter killed like a spell. Only faster. 

It was not yet the time for winter, because the underwood made too much noise under his boots. It seemed hellbent on coming, nonetheless, and just as he strayed off the good path that led him from town to town, the wind picked up out of nowhere and the Sightless heard his name in a whisper.

It guided him, in a way that far outlasted the jolt of fear that made his hairs raise. The name his parents gave him had never sounded so right, so secretive. A name that prickled like thorns, trickled down his throat like rosewater. 

After walking in the same direction for a while, the Sightless stepped on hard, paved floors of stone. He leaned on a sturdy wall and walked more until his fingers closed around a knob. 

A metallic clang resonated in what he thought was a magnificent dome. He knocked the iron knob on the door once again, still with no answer, and held the cape tighter around himself, but the long wait hurt like a long winter. Between the hinges, the stones and woodwork, worms and bees and centipedes produced a distinct stir that didn’t go undetected to the Sightless’ ears. It wasn’t the longing for a roof that convinced him to enter, but the fear of starving on the threshold. 

He may have been blind, but the chill that ran down his spine foretold something all too real.

A voice of human depth and strength made his ears perk up, but he’d been in the company of his own thoughts for so long that he believed it to be his wishful thinking turning the wind into human words. That is why, at first, he did not heed the warning tone. 

The voice sounded so angry, almost like a shout, but the rustle of metal and rust distracted him. Several things were tumbling on the ground and the sightless boy’s feet were crossed by a cold shiver when a plate, or maybe a goblet, touched his ankle. He hadn’t put anything in his belly for days, or more, and his stomach served as a reminder, with a gurgle rising into his throat. His hunger did not let him focus on anything the voice, which only grew more frustrated, was trying to get across until that moment. 

 

“You’re hungry.” The indistinct clatter ceased, and a silence fell from the roof like the floor scattered with cutlery and trinkets and ceramics was suddenly a tomb field. 

 

He was hungry, yes. It must have showed from his ribs, but a body cannot make others feel hunger, only depict it, somehow. The Sightless still nodded, aware that he’d some there to interrupt quite a pleasant meal but without the strength to feel sorry for it. A table full of food had appeared before him, so how? He could tell from inhaling the smell. It would’ve been right, and not at all cruel, to kick him out. Instead of doing so, the owner of the voice walked towards him, if not coming quite close enough. The Sightless’ tongue twisted in his mouth, but he didn’t know

if it was to answer a question,

to beg for a taste, or to pretend he was invited to sit there. 

Surely, the man didn’t kick him out. He didn’t sound like that was his intention, or that he’d been moved to pity either. He sounded like he didn’t feel anything at all.

The Sightless crouched to the ground, because he knew the man had thrown some meat there, and he yanked flesh apart from bone with his bare hands, oil trickling down his teeth, fingers, and the chipped piece of ceramic. Before he started eating, the man heaved a heavy sigh and spoke.

 

“There is still time to go back. You won’t get out of the house of Dhamqorrak after eating from his plate.”

 

But he had been aware of the risk since knocking on that terrible door. It was too late to walk away, now that he knew the rumors were true.

  
  
  
  


He’d always learned at his own pace. 

  
  
  
  


His name was Dhamqorrak, and he was no man. Jaym had no way to tell how long the creature had been hiding in the ruins and no way to receive any kind of answer, for the secrets of that castle were ancestral and his experience too scarce and sheltered to really understand.

Moreover, Dhamqorrak was avoiding his company. 

Jaym had never been so cruelly driven away before. At his parents’ court, people shrunk away from him but never so as to make him uncomfortable or hurting. He was reasonable enough not to stray from the wing that was adapted especially for him, his own personal home, which lacked nothing. His quiet garden, of long walks and his favorite perfumes, his kitchens and cooks, who prepared the most delectable meals, his own dining room and chambers, the calmest place on Earth. So long as he didn’t go out, he could do and say whatever he wished with his one friend. 

His childhood was so full of pleasant things that he’d never craved for more. What could a prince wish for? Not seeing all of that didn’t matter, and if he wanted to know something more all he had to do was ask. It’s how he heard the sky was lilac, and his own hair a shade darker than the sunset. He liked that description. 

Jaym saw the world through his brother’s words, from the ground he walked on every single day to the lands he’d never been. His only friend, his only love gave him company, sight and joy to no end. In those gardens, under that lilac sky.

 

When Jaym was a child, not yet fully able to speak the way his brother did, he asked what their parents were like.

Samael’s knuckles lingered on the back of Jaym’s hand, then he shrunk from the soft touch. Jaym heard an uncertain hum, which usually meant his brother didn’t enjoy to talk about something. He tried to be fair, treat Jaym like an equal, to word things like a wise king would, but it was clear that the role didn’t quite fit his shoulders. For now. 

Jaym waited patiently from under the heavy blankets until Samael took a long breath. 

 

“Mother is busy on the borders of our kingdom, but I think she’ll come back very soon.”

 

It wouldn’t make a difference to Jaym. Mother was always too busy for him. 

 

“I haven’t had a chance to be alone with Father lately. He’s the same as always.”

 

“Is he in good health?”

 

Samael fixed the covers on Jaym’s bed, as if he wanted to keep his hands busy. “Of course. His health seems stronger than ever. He sure has enough breath to point out my every mistake.”

 

Jaym’s smile melted into a slight pout. He could hear the bitterness in Samael’s remark, even if he tried to sweep it under the rug. “B-But you’re kind… And you dance with the heavy stick every day! …And you like Father. So why?” 

 

Samael was the better son, the best son they could want. And yet, as soon as he had a free moment, Samael would choose to spend it in his small brother’s wing, pretending that didn’t displease their parents as well as a good part of the courtesans. The child wasn’t stupid. 

 

His brother laughed heartily. “It’s a sword, Jaym, not a stick.” His voice grew more subdued, like he was actually far, far away. “Father doesn’t like a lot of people, though. It’s just that he’s a little… austere. Maybe he thinks I did something bad, pumpkin.”

 

Jaym scrunched up his nose at the nickname, unconvinced, which prompted Samael to laugh once more; it sounded so different, in a genuine way. “Then I don’t like Father…”

 

“Don’t say that. He loves both of us very much. Mother, too.” A large familiar hand ruffled Jaym’s long hair and when that brief contact faded, Samael places a goodnight kiss over the several bandages that covered his eyes - or the lack of them. It took away the bad dreams. Jaym didn’t know where he took them. Away must have been a place his big brother knew well.

Years later, Samael was still the only one who ever came back. 

  
  


The garden in the ruins was more dilapidated than the very stones. It hadn’t been tended to for decades, and Jaym could never hear so much as a bird’s chirping or the stealthy intrusion of a rat among brambles of blackthorns and crabapples. He would expect a sign, but even rats were afraid of Dhamquorrak.

Jaym was sure Dhamqorrak didn’t feed him rats. He wasn’t sure on why He fed him, or why He treated it like coercion. Jaym had nowhere else to go. He would rather have a rat for breakfast than the peaches he used to eat every day, with a fork and a knife, and the best attendants in the kingdom. No, he would rather kill one himself than go back.

 

“Oh, of course it’s you. Please, come forth.” The branches shuffled when he let go of them. Jaym’s voice was gentle, as though he needed to coax a scaredy rat out of its hole. The creature listened, advancing behind him, but he did not expect to hear him speak. 

 

“Prince… are you eating?”

 

Prince, no, he had been no prince, in a not-so-distant life. Weeks of travel away, a life of lilac skies, a life of gold and perfume and his brother’s goodnight kiss. Jaym, stupefied, let his fingers fall away from his mouth, lapping his lips for the sour juice of pomegranates. “You said I’m allowed to touch everything within the walls.”

 

Dhamqorrak - or the one who replaced him - still walked forth. On two legs. It didn’t make sense. “You are, but those fruits are rotten.”

 

“They wouldn’t be dangling off the branches.” Jaym licked the remaining juice from his left hand, then turned toward the voice. He wasn’t actually looking at the man in front of him but Dhamqorrak shifted, and Jaym could feel him close. “Just because they’ve been neglected, it doesn’t mean they’re rotten…”

 

Instead of coming up with a reply, Dhamqorrak lifted a hand to Jaym’s chin. “Pardon me,” he said simply. The boy didn’t flinch when a soft piece of wool proceeded to clean him, though it was the last thing he expected, but he distinctly perceived the worrisome low temperature of the man’s skin. And that made him draw his eyebrows together. 

 

“You do not look like a monster now.”

 

Dhamqorrak’s touch did not linger more than necessary. His voice was contemplative. “You cannot be sure.”

 

“I can,” Jaym remarked. “You take for granted many things just because I can’t see you. But the truth doesn’t mean anything by itself, just like what the eye sees.”

 

“If you did see, you would have ran by now.”

 

“I’ve ran for a long time and I came here to rest. I reckon we’re similar, you and I.”

 

Dhamqorrak sighed, something almost like a bitter laugh, then he took one half of the pomegranate from his hand. He turned it around, studying it, and he cast it to the ground. It split like wood under a blow. “You rested for a month. Now you may go.”

 

Jaym stood incredibly still while Dhamqorrak retreated into his fortress of thoughts, the heavy hinges clanging after him. Jaym had eaten from his plate and his garden, his void and his space, his home and soul. 

But was it ever too late to keep running?

  
  
  


 

 

 

As usual, Jaym didn’t know what he was feeling. 

Head felt light, toes didn’t touch the ground, they curled, they tensed, now they catalyzed the centre of his cosmos and the sparking energy flowing through him and bridled it to a spiritual, bone-crushing fire. 

Crying would have been easier if he beared any skein of nerves or ducts behind his eye-sockets, but alas, they were empty, and so was his windpipe when a scream rattled through it. He heard that scream bounce off a huge hall with high ceilings and a taste for ruin. He could tell the cracks - in the ceilings - had scraped away a good chunk, from the pressure of the air, and smell. A bit like walking out in the open, which was not a place he’d rather be while Dhamqorrak’s overwhelming tongue pierced the stretched rim of muscles. Nowhere else it would fit, but this redundant hall, full of trash and things someone else in another epoch might have needed; are they any different, Dhamqorrak and himself? It smelled like a rainstorm. 

Jaym knew something about rain. He knew something about scratching and keeping it up with bloody nails and the smell of getting lost,

woods,

night,

sex. He knew the sky was a very nice shade of lilac. It must have been - because with the insane amount of lies, he’d learned to pick out the threads of spontaneity that happened to graze him from time to time. Jaym didn’t know what lilac was but he was sure it got stitched with gold thread into his clothes, his chest, and his family, and that he wouldn’t mind seeing a color like lilac instead of all-encompassing darkness. From time to time.

His nails sunk into the unnaturally hard skin of the creature’s back and with a whine of immense relief, he spent himself untouched. 

A rainstorm was the phantom of the slow-burning tragedy that filled this room with them. 

Jaym’s bandages came undone around his head, revealing only one of the dark holes carved into his face. He imagined it wouldn’t be beautiful, but he had never seen anything beautiful. He wondered how many eyes Dhamqorrak had. For some reason, Jaym wanted to be beautiful. 

The creature let go of his thighs, the inhumanly large hands rising up to spread his cheeks apart. Everything Jaym had known about pleasure before Dhamqorrak was quickly replaced by a nerve-wracking hunger, his bones quivered in a hold that could break him in a moment. It felt a little like fear, but Jaym couldn’t get tired of it. 

The burn, the sting wasn’t comparable to the cold intrusion his insides clenched around. Oh, how he begged Dhamqorrak to give him more. He could bury His loneliness inside Jaym’s body with each needy thrust, and there was a lot of it, so much of it that Jaym’s legs barely had enough strength to keep clinging to the monster’s sides. A warm, liquid passion seized his limbs until his last hair and his lips opened in a soft moan, and then another. Dhamqorrak didn’t stop or slow down until Jaym’s voice began to come out more and more choked, breaking into sobs, and they worked like a lullaby. 

The creature’s arms locked around his waist, supporting the small body shaking around his beautiful cock. Jaym’s hands found the creature’s knotty biceps and the last thrusts spread his insides even more, as much as Dhamqorrak needed. All of him had to fit - all the loneliness, the pain, the horror, Jaym would take it all. 

 

He needed something to love, and Dhamqorrak would pour it right into him...

  
  
  
  
  


Until the day of his sixteenth birthday, the sky had poured a week-long rainstorm into his garden. It cooled the weather, and when a bleeding red sun finally set again over their kingdom, Samael had pleaded the guards to see his brother. 

The youngest prince sat in front of the sunset without seeing it.

 

“Your hair… It really does suit you, this time of day.”

 

Jaym turned around quick, a smile blooming on his lips. “Of course it’s you.”

 

“It’s me.” Samael’s voice felt huskier than he remembered, and swelling with a touch of pride. His first battle had been a success, Jaym knew without asking. “Sorry I made you wait.”

 

“You didn’t make me wait,” Jaym shook his head. His brother stroked the high of his cheek, trailing down a lock of hair. Then, he pulled it behind Jaym’s ear. Jaym found himself leaning into the touch. “You’re  _ back. _ I’m so glad you’re back. Is everyone in good health?”

 

Samael didn’t seem to hear him. Jaym rose to his feet, following Samael into the centre of his own bedroom. 

 

“Dear brother,” Jaym called, controlling his voice, reaching out to him. Samael didn’t wear his armor anymore, and he felt the warm chest fall under his touch. 

 

“Yes, Jaym? Oh, they’re alright. We’re fine. But Father… He appointed me to train more intensely. To claim the crown.”

 

“S-So soon? Oh, that brings me so much joy! The best birthday present!” Samael received Jaym in his arms like he’d waited for it the whole time, and his powerful arms all but lifted the boy from the ground. If Samael was as kind to their people as he was to Jaym, and as capable with state affairs as on the battlefield, he would be king in no time. 

 

Jaym pulled back, but didn’t loosen their hug. Questioning how Samael could stay so collected, his chest overflowed with pride. So many questions on the brink of his tongue.

Samael kissed him. The agitation and ecstasy running through his veins had only lasted a minute.

As a child, Jaym thought his first kiss would taste like milk and honey. 

It tasted like salt and water. Samael took his tongue into his mouth, their teeth barely grazed, and then his brother’s hands tugged down his tunic. 

Jaym blinked before he realized his entire body had tensed up. Ann uncanny pressure was welling up in his head.

 

“I-I… I don’t understand.”

 

“What’s there to understand?” Samael was smiling, like an accomplice. “Come now. I made you wait sixteen years…”

 

As he asked Samael to wait, Jaym was pulled to lie on his bed. His tunic was open on the front, but a warm hand ran down his skin, awaking shivers. When Samael moved his lips to Jaym’s jugular, that’s when his legs started kicking. 

Jaym didn’t want his legs to kick Samael, but he couldn’t help it. 

 

“Stop, fuck,” Samael grunted. Annoyed. Samael never got annoyed. “Is your head really that fucking empty? Did you lose your brain together with your eyes? Stop fighting.” 

 

“Please…” Jaym tried to push his brother’s shoulders away, but they wouldn’t give an inch. His hands fisted into Samael’s clothes. The weight of him was crushing his ribcage and not let him breath. Either, they were playing, or Samael was trying to kill him. Certainly. Clearly. 

 

But his certainty crumbled at the feet of the bed when Samael slotted their lips together again. This wasn’t a game he knew.

 

“Relax, Jaym, trust me. You’ll be alright,” Samael told him. “I’ll take care of you. And when I’ll be the king… When I’m the king…” He didn’t need to end the sentence. Jaym opened his mouth to scream, but Samael saw right through him and forced a fistful of cloth through his teeth. “I hoped you’d understand me. I hoped I wouldn’t need to act like this.”   
  


A wet sound rose in Jaym’s throat, but the only thread keeping him anchored to reality - it this could be called such - was the voice he’d known his entire life. 

 

“You understand, do you?” Samael sounded amused. “That no one actually loves you beside me. We’re alone in the world. I'm all you have.”

 

What scared Jaym was not the violence in his words, but the truth. Truth kills like winter, but faster - in a second, it slices your throat, it hands your body by the neck. Jaym felt as if Samael was trying to crush their loneliness, and he was only just beginning to catch its edges. His brother kissed his eyes like he’d done for a thousand nights, unaware that it would be the last. 

They said goodnight kisses chased bad dreams far away. 

 

And this time it did, for no nightmare would ever compare. 

  
  
  
  
  


Jaym let out a contented moan when he came, the orgasm melting his voice completely. He wore a grateful smile. If he had eyes and ears, he hoped Dhamqorrak perceived it.

But when the man came to him, that night, Jaym didn’t make a sound. They only had a day, before the moon appeared again in the sky and that terrible magic coursed again through the man’s veins, turning him. Changing him for another month. And so on, forever.

 

Dhamqorrak brought them closer by grabbing Jaym’s shoulders. He was hurting a little bit from their earlier activities and the creature’s harsh ways, but he didn’t say anything. Dhamqorrak was hurting more, but he didn’t say that. 

 

“When this happened the first time, I was banished by the King. I went where no one would ever look for me.” It felt so different from the first time he offered Jaym the food of his table, the shelter of his home. He was offering a part of his heart, pale and pulsing, but hardly healed, knowing full well that Jaym would bite into everything within his reach. 

 

Jaym coaxed Dhamqorrak’s face between his palms. A scared beast, that’s what he was; He wouldn’t refuse his affections, poor lonely soul. “When my mom picked me up from the cradle and saw I was lacking eyes, she screamed. I don’t even remember her voice.”

 

"What happened to them?"

 

"My brother took..." The soft hand behind his neck tightened just slightly. Jaym pressed back against it. "He took them away. No one knew, he's always been the best of us. And I was a newborn."

 

The darkness engulfed them like a gentle mother. Until Dhamqorrak couldn't bear it, “You were so alone.”

 

Jaym huffed softly. “Not at all. He loved me.”

  
  
  
  


 

Dhamqorrak’s hands worked the tied knot behind his head. They undid it slowly, with the same patience He’d used while preparing Jaym’s body. The bandages came away like it was just fabric. 

But Jaym wasn’t scared. He only felt cold air around his insensitive skin, and the cold concretized into Dhamqorrak’s soft thumb tracing the rim of his orbit. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
